


Laced Drink

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Castiel Whump (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Whump, F/M, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Castiel (Supernatural), Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Season/Series 11, Whumptober 2019, laced drink, the non-consensual parts are not Dean and Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-29 12:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21140432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Amara wishes to have a meeting with Castiel and he complies.





	Laced Drink

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 21 of Whumptober 2019.  
Prompt: laced drink
> 
> Sorry I'm a day behind with this! I'll try to have today's fic up. I don't even have it written yet, but I know what characters, pairing, and scenario I'm doing for the prompt. I've just been really distracted lately, had a really bad day, then had my day turn positive for a bit, and now one of my chronic illnesses has really acted up. At least it's given me some down time after I took a _bunch_ of medicine.

Amara demanded Castiel meet with her. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t about to turn down a being as old as his father, and just as powerful. Dean insisted on going with him, but staying outside, as a guard, a last line of defense. Castiel had assured him he wouldn’t need it, that everything would be fine. But they both knew that this was it. And yet, he’d managed to convince Dean to stay away, out of Amara’s range of her thrall over him.

So Castiel went to the cathedral.

“I suppose this is some sort of… peace meeting?” Castiel questioned, hands out helplessly as he walked down the aisle.

Amara’s hand slid from the altar, and she smiled, beginning to slowly make her way over to the tabernacle.

“Not quite. More like… a surrender, if you will. I am inevitable, Castiel. You know this. What is light but the absence of darkness? It is an attempt to escape me, to push me back, hold me at bay. But I’m still there, always have been, locked away, at the far reaches of the universe.” 

The tabernacle was locked, but she tore at the gold hinges and ripped the small door off. A chalice of red wine rested inside, and she stirred it before going to the altar, back turned to him. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but he didn’t much care, just walked along the walls, fingers brushing over statues of the Virgin Mary, and Jesus, of angels, their wings spread out to show their honor and glory and strength. He glanced up at the stained glass windows, at Jesus carrying the cross he would be nailed to.

And there was the archangel Michael, smiting demons with his sword just beneath it. He ran his hands along the sword, the unrecognized Catholic symbol of the Righteous Man, of Dean Winchester himself. Oh, Dean.

_Castiel was lying in bed with Dean. It was a tad difficult fitting in the hunter’s bed side by side, but with a few limbs put over each other, an arm casually wrapped around the other, they managed. Dean had a leg over Cas, keeping his thighs open, and an arm around his shoulders. It was a nice gesture, though Castiel was sure Dean was the one who was tired out from their coupling and was more in need of comfort._

_“You know, this whole end of the universe thing,” Dean said, trailing a finger up Cas’ arm before leaning in and kissing his shoulder, “what if we just hid in here forever?”_

_Castiel tilted his head to Dean, brushed his cheek against his. “You know we can’t do that. The universe, it needs people like us.”_

_“What, a high school dropout, and the angel who fucks him?”_

_Castiel rolled his eyes, and let out a sigh at Dean using such a crude word for what they did. But he supposed it made sense. Neither of them really knew what this was._

_They’d hunt together, Castiel would go on his own sometimes, Dean would sleep with other people, and then they’d find their way back to bed. Or… not always a bed. Sometimes a wall, a desk, a couch, the floor, against a boulder, or a tree, the wall of an abandoned building, the back of the Impala. It’d been happening less and less as stress piled on, as their lives grew darker and darker, as the trauma wracked up, but it was still part of their lives._

_And Dean was important to him. But without the world, they couldn’t have this._

_“It needs the man who taught me free will.”_

_Dean shook his head, and started pulling away from Cas. “I’m sorry, baby, I can’t do this. After the Mark, after releasing Amara, all this-this heartfelt crap… it’s too much. Makes me think it’s all ending.” He sat on the edge of the bed now, back turned to him._

_Castiel raised himself up, and rested his weight on his knees, moving over to Dean, rubbing his shoulders, kissing the back of his neck without much thought. Dean was hunched over, head hanging low. There was tension in his body._

_“We won’t let it end.”_

_Dean shoved him off of him, and Castiel let him. His face fell as Dean started pulling his jeans on. “Tell that to Amara.”_

Amara continued her spiel of what light and darkness were, as if Castiel didn’t already know how hopeless everything was: “Even some humans know the true order of the powers that be. Light is the energy in this universe, but that is not forever. It is but a candle in the dark. And all candles go out. Unless,” she turned to Castiel, who was now on the right side, finger near the flame of a white candle, “_God_ decides to create more. Unless he finds a way to be forever. But God has not come, has he? Has he spoken to you, Castiel?”

“No,” Cas answered, word bitter, poison welling in his chest.

Through the Apocalypse, through _this_, God hadn’t deigned to show himself. Through his deaths, the Winchester’s deaths, The Fall, through his humanity, through everything, his father hadn’t spoken a word.

Castiel didn’t even know his face.

_Castiel was on his knees before Dean’s bed, hands rested on the quilt, palms together._

_“God… Father, I don’t know if you’re listening, if you ever have been, but… your sister, my… my aunt, I suppose, she’s free, and she means to do away with us all. I don’t know if you…_ care_, but if you do, we need your help.”_

_He sighed, and shook his head. “I know it’s not like me to pray to you. It’s very unlike me. As an angel I don’t believe in the power of prayer for beings like myself. I mostly just like to listen to Dean’s prayers, his words, his… longing for me. It’s euphoric. But perhaps to you we’re just so small, a billion voices in the wind. But… if you’re up there, please…”_

_He let his voice trail off, was looking upwards, and then there was polite knocking on the doorframe, a clearing of someone’s throat._

_“Whatcha doin’?”_

_Castiel started at hearing Dean, and started rising to his feet, a blush creeping up his face._

_“N-Nothing.”_

_“Kinda looked like you were praying.”_

_“I’m an angel. I don’t pray.”_

_“Mm hmm.”_

_“And if I was, it’s between me and my father.”_

_Dean came over, grabbing Cas by the elbows, pulling him towards him, feet careful as he stepped closer. There was a satisfied_ mm _coming out of his mouth._

_“He’s not listening, Cas.”_

_“Dean—”_

_“But I am.”_

_“You’re just a human.”_

_“And you’re just an angel.”_

_Castiel felt his lips turn up in a smile. As if being just an angel was a bad thing._

_“You’re trying to make me feel better.”_

_“It working?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“But you ever see your dad’s face?”_

_Castiel shook his head._

_“Then see mine.”_

_Castiel stared and stared, and then he felt intensity beat within his chest, and he kissed Dean._

“Then is it fair to say that he does not care? That all he wants is people to worship him, and fear him? To die helpless, and alone? To have his herd and his family feel forgotten?”

“What do you want?” Castiel asked, walking over to her, itching to call upon his angel blade.

But no, it wouldn’t work, not against her.

She smiled, darkness in her eyes, deadly as ever, and handed him the wine, the supposed blood of Christ. Some humans believed in it, and Castiel didn’t know what to believe.

What faith was there after falling, after having an absent father?

“Drink, and realize you’ve already lost. You all lost the mere moment this universe was a thought in my brother’s mind.”

“So why not move on from it?” Castiel asked. “Are there not other worlds, universes, dimensions?”

He took the cup from her, stared at the red. He wondered if the wine would even taste good. He often drank with Dean, had even had a drink the night before.

_“Cas, you don’t have to go, you know,” Dean said, putting his beer aside to hold his hand, and look him in the eye._

_They were sitting at the kitchen table, well past midnight. Sam had gone to bed a few hours ago after a hard day of research to see if there was a way to protect Cas tomorrow. He’d found nothing._

_Cas met Dean’s gaze, but then purposefully avoided him._

_“I have to.”_

_“Then I’ll go with you.”_

_“No. No, she’ll… She’ll get you. That… hold she has over you, it’s too powerful.”_

_Castiel said no more, unable to look at Dean. It was wrong, it was_ all wrong_._

_“Hey. Hey.” Dean put a hand gently under Castiel’s chin and lifted his head up. “You’re not jealous are you?”_

_Castiel braved looking at Dean’s cheekbones, loving how sculpted they were, the light spray of freckles across delicate skin. He found himself moving his eyes upwards, meeting the beautiful green. There was worry there amongst the affection and the intensity they always had when they shared a gaze._

_“No,” he answered truthfully. “Never. I know this isn’t what you want. That she’s doing this to you. And I’m so sorry.”_

_Dean bit his bottom lip, worrying it between his teeth. “Nah, it’s… it’s good.”_

_“Dean, it’s not—”_

_“Forget it. But tomorrow, what if you just… don’t? We could stay here. Just send Sam out for supply runs when we need it.”_

_“With him getting his visions? Dean, that’s hardly fair.”_

_“Okay, okay, you’re right. But, Cas, what if you don’t come back? This is_ God’s sister_. What are we gonna do without you? What am… What am I going to do?”_

_“I’ll come back.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“The things we do, the things we face,” Castiel began, “there’s no assurances we’ll come back, that we’ll be okay, but we do them anyway. It’s our job, it’s for the world.” He leaned in, lowered his voice, making sure his eyes were locked with Dean’s. “It’s for each other.“_

_“I don’t want you dying for me. You’ve already done it, and you know what I did last time? I kept your coat, Cas, and I kept that damn thing rolled up under my head like a pillow every friggin’ night. I… I did it even when it stopped smellin’ like you. I ain’t goin’ through that again.”_

_“You won’t.”_

_“You don’t know that.”_

_“Then in that case…”_

_Castiel grabbed the back of Dean’s head, leaned forward and brought their mouths together. Dean reciprocated immediately, lips rough and needy against his, and soon he was biting his bottom lip, pulling on it, groaning against him. There wasn’t any time for them to be slow._

_Pulling apart for a few seconds they got up from their seats at the table and began to grip at clothes when they came together again, to pull them away from each other, to reveal skin._

_“My room?” Dean asked breathlessly._

_Castiel went after his mouth for a second, wanting to please Dean, wanting to know he was with him, and feeling a need for pleasure stirring in him._

_Dean let him have his mouth for a few seconds, lips parted, tongue reaching into him, and then he withdrew, responding, “Yes, your room.”_

_Their coupling wasn’t more intense than some of their other “last night on Earth” moments that Castiel had gone through with him, but it was certainly one to remember. They kept it going as long as they could, holding each other, even hurting each other. Dean wanted to remember him for days, and Castiel wished the temporary marks Dean left on him would stay, that the bruises would linger, that the broken skin from the bit of flogging would remain broken. He wanted to walk with Dean etched into his skin, wanted him within him when he went to Amara._

_But he healed. And to some degree he wanted to heal Dean, but Dean reveled in his soreness, even the sweat coating his body, the bit of himself Castiel had left in him. Dean had been asleep when he’d planned to leave, but he’d woken him up, the world unfair and cruel, and they’d finished drinking together, the both of them hiding their tears._

Castiel glanced at Amara, too terrified to meet her eyes, and she seemed eager to have him drink. He raised the chalice and did so.

There was something beneath the atoms and the molecules and the thicker wavelengths within the wine. It was another wavelength, something that had a taste to it, alerting him to more matter than just that of the wine. Perhaps there was a truth to the blood of Christ? Amara was staring at him intently, so despite his nerves he drank up. 

Castiel tried passing the chalice to Amara, assuming there was some solidarity involved in this, and then they would continue to chat. She did take it, sniffed the contents, gave him a sly smile, and then placed it aside on the altar.

Ringing started up in Castiel’s head, tingling in his fingers. Deep inside, his Grace numbed. He reached out, weakened hand scrabbling at the marble, and he managed to catch himself. Amara came forward and he curled his lip in a snarl.

Though his body began to feel stuffed with cotton, Grace seeming farther away, vision blurring, he lifted an arm, tried pushing Amara back with his powers. Her black dress and dark hair buffeted in the rush of energy he created, and the candles on the far side of the room billowed before flickering out, tiny plumes of smoke rising into the air.

Amara grabbed him by his biceps, face deceptively kind, but so wise. There wasn’t evil in her, just knowledge of how the universe was supposed to be. The strap of her dress slipped and the Mark near her collarbone burned in Castiel’s vision.

_Dean,_ he managed to think.

This must have something to do with Dean.

“It’s alright,” she told him, as she pried his hand from the altar, and lowered him to the floor.

He’d tried to struggle, but it was no use. Words that were attempted refutations came out as mumbles. She caressed his cheek as she leaned his head back against the altar, telling him, “You know, my brother did take interest in you. And Dean. Why you, I can’t understand. Weak, worthless, expendable. And what does Dean see in you, I wonder? You’re just an angel, Castiel. Yet another one of my brother’s failed creations. But he, he released me, you see. And being forever grateful, well, that’s just not enough. He was created by my brother, yes, but he did this one thing for me. He went against him, and now I will have him forever.” She shook her head, pouting. “Not you. Never you. You were just the good soldier who fell for humanity. I am the dark who will consume all.”

“Nnnoo…” Castiel tried to growl out, but his voice was weak, trembly.

“Dean will be in me.”

Amara didn’t seem entirely like one to gloat. Perhaps she was just explaining this. It seemed now as if she was done because she stood, turned her head to the side to see if Castiel was still awake. He was, his breaths coming shallowly, eyelids heavy, wanting nothing more than to fall asleep, but too terrified beneath all the heavy drowsiness to do so.

Amara raised her arms, throwing her head back triumphantly, there was a flash of lightning, and then Dean was standing in the aisle before them. At first he seemed fazed, eyes wide, but then his lids lowered ever so slightly, a relaxed expression coming over his face.

Amara approached, and he almost did the same, but clenched his jaw.

There were bruises and welts marking his skin from the night before. Castiel was sure Amara was displeasured by them.

Dean’s eyes darted to Cas, helpless on the floor. He tried to rise, but his head swirled, and he collapsed back to the floor with a grunt.

“Cas,” Dean breathed.

Amara grabbed his face gently, drawing her attention to him.

“Never mind him. I needed to get him out of the way.”

“For what?” Dean asked, voice gruff. Castiel could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he swallowed roughly. He was trying to be tough. But he could also see the slight blush in his cheeks, even with the haziness in his vision.

_Dean. Oh, Dean, I’m so sorry._

Black spots grew in Castiel’s vision. He couldn’t feel his toes anymore, or even his feet, maybe his legs didn’t exist. His arms certainly didn’t...

Amara pulled Dean into her and kissed him. His eyes closed, and he kissed back, moaning, lips parting.

...nor did his heart.

He lost Dean.

He lost his vision.

Castiel passed out on the floor of the cathedral, against the altar, and if one could see through into the dimension his wings were in they would be featherless, and nearly folded up against his back. No light shone upon him, instead Amara’s figure cast a shadow upon his limp form, and Dean grabbed her waist. The remainder of the laced wine lay untouched.


End file.
